“Don’t like the look of yon wheel, sir,” Frederick said.
Exasperated, Griff leaned out of the window and followed his footman’s nod. The wheel looked odd. “Let’s hope it gets us to our destination,” he hissed.
They stopped to ask directions twice. Eventually, a gatekeeper opened an ornate black and gold double gate and the carriage pulled into a winding avenue that led to Thicketford Manor. The majestic weeping willows lining both sides of the avenue put the barren approach to Clifton Heights to shame. His driveway used to have trees and he wondered how it was they had disappeared. When the impressive manor house came into view, it was plain to see it was in better repair than his own.
Frederick took down the step and held the carriage door open. Adjusting his cravat, Griff strode to the front door, lifted the brass lion’s head and knocked.
It took only a minute for a butler to appear in response to the sonorous thud of the knocker. The fellow’s demeanor and immaculate livery reminded Griff of Potts as he narrowed his eyes at the grimy carriage.
“Griffith Halliwell, Earl of Pendlebury,” he announced in an effort to divert the butler’s attention from the ramshackle vehicle. “Here to call on the Earl of Farnworth.”
“Frame at your service, your lordship,” Potts’ twin replied. “I’m afraid the whole family has gone on a day trip to the racecourse at Chester, returning tomorrow.”
Rarely at a loss for words, Griff was gobsmacked. Were the Smiths racing aficionados like him? Thewhole family? Including the bluestocking? “They’ve gone to The Roodee?” he babbled.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Frame asked, clearly puzzled.
“Er…nothing. That leaves me in a bit of a predicament. My carriage…”
“Clearly, neither it nor your steed are equipped for the four-hour journey to Chester.”
Frame had obviously taken note of the suspect wheel and decrepit horse.
“Precisely. Perhaps there’s an inn nearby you can recommend, and a wheelwright who can effect repairs.”
“Certainly, my lord.The Coach and Fourin Preston. They’ll know of a wheelwright.”
*
After a briefstop to stretch their legs and water the horses, Susan and her companions arrived in Chester just after midday and took rooms at thePied Bull Inn.
After initially insisting he had no space available—it’s race week, don’t ye know—the landlord changed his tune when Gabriel identified himself.
Surprisingly luxurious accommodations were soon found—Gabe and Emma in one spacious chamber, Susan, Rebecca and Patsy in another. Bradley was happy to bed down in the stables, as was Conrad, their driver.
“Mummy’s glad we got rooms,” Patsy confided. “She was afraid we might have to stay with Aunty Priscilla.”
Susan had met Emma’s sister at Matthew’s wedding and again at his funeral. From what she remembered of the woman who lived in Cheshire with several undisciplined children, massive dogs and a sullen husband, she was also relieved.
After a quick luncheon of pickled egg salad spread on toast rounds, they joined the substantial crowd walking the short distance to the racecourse.
Fortunately, the landlord of thePied Bull Innhad wisely provided an escort. The diminutive Oscar was clearly well known to the officials and they were whisked to the front of the lengthy queue.
Once they entered the grounds, Susan gaped at the spectacle of hundreds of people crammed into a huge grandstand and an equal crush in the field below.
Bradley abruptly excused himself and disappeared into the crowd below the grandstand.
“Newly built this year,” Oscar explained with an expansive gesture.
“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Gabriel remarked.
“Used to be a jockey, my lord. Too old now, but I love coming here. Oldest racecourse in the country. The Roodee gets in yer blood.”
Oscar led them up an exterior staircase to a private box, all the while explaining how the strange nickname had come into being. Susan looked down at a grassy area where several horses were being paraded around a ring—and suddenly knew exactly what the retired jockey meant.
She’d grown up around horses, though she couldn’t say she particularly enjoyed riding. The sleek, long-legged beasts in the paddock below bore no resemblance to any horse she’d ever seen.
Oscar discretely informed Gabriel he would willingly act as a runner to place any bets his lordship wished to make on the outcome of the races.